


A Brutal Threat Against a Fragile Peacock

by LuckySevens



Category: Kung Fu Panda (Movies)
Genre: Manipulation, One Shot, Short, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:15:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27986025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckySevens/pseuds/LuckySevens
Summary: Someone has threatened the life of Gongmen City's young heir. The Soothsayer thinks she knows who did it.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	A Brutal Threat Against a Fragile Peacock

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little hypothetical scenario about Shen's younger years.

It was a simple little trinket. Maybe it could've been called art, but only if one was being generous. It was made from a single block of wood; a thin, long neck carved out of it, swooping down into a roundish body, with two wings marked into the sides. The entire piece was painted white, first, then little splashes of red had been added, around the neck, where a ravine deep enough to almost sever the throat entirely had been cut.

On its own, perhaps huddled off to the side of an artist's table, it'd be an odd, vaguely disturbing little piece.

Found in the silken bed of Gongmen City's young, albino lord, it was a clear threat.

There'd been a massive commotion in the palace tower, in the morning, when a servant had been changing the bed and found the little thing. A lot of shouting and worried running. The cleaning servant had cried out to the guards, who had called to another guard to alert the brightly colored lord and lady, already in their throne room, passing the worry around like a disease. Someone wished to harm the city's only heir, and they'd managed to gain access to his chambers. It was an absolutely chilling thought. It seemed like within minutes the entire palace was filled with worried, frantic animals, desperate for answers and unclear how to find them.

In fact, it seemed the only one who was not disturbed by the news, whose eyes did not widen in shock, was the threat's target. He allowed himself to be hurried to one of the red-painted, hexagonal guest rooms, away from his own chambers, without a word. Only when he was "safe" did he request a message be sent to his parents, wherever they were at the moment. One of the guards had obediently run off to pass on the prince's words, then the others had shut the doors, leaving him alone. Bored and alone.

Reclining on soft cushions, fanning himself half-heartedly, he simply found it hard to worry. Ever since he could remember it'd been made clear to him that he was a target. It simply came with the territory of being a noble, first in line for a powerful throne. Every uncreative rebel had had some thought of at least kidnapping him at some point, he was sure of it. Murder was a bit of a more extreme gesture, but he was certain it was just as common a thought.

The young lord rolled his eyes, putting down his fan. Yes, the idea of a death threat did not shock him at all. He knew, was always aware, of the danger he was in. That he'd been born an incredibly tempting target. If anything, it surprised him that his parents were apparently so shocked. They lived with the same burden. Surely they knew it applied to their child, too? Surely that was the reason for his being cooped up in the palace so much, so often under guard.

He at least _hoped_ it wasn't simply shame that kept him hidden away so much.

When the Soothsayer walked in, through the ornate double doors, she did not look happy. She did not move to comfort her threatened charge, or even offer him an encouraging look. He did not turn to face her either, though his eyes darted in her direction.

"The Lord and Lady have accepted your request, Shen" she said, an accusing tone to her voice, "for your own safety, you will begin martial arts training tomorrow."

He smiled; how many times had be begged to be allowed to train? Far too many. Father always gave him a horribly condescending look, ran his wing along his own, no doubt feeling its thinness, and told him it would be for the best if he didn't try, always followed promptly by mother agreeing.

"Oh Nana..." he spoke, his tone intentionally clueless, "why don't you look happy? You know how long I've wanted this..."

She maintained her frown as she moved to the prince. Leaning close to him, her voice quiet so as to not alert the guards outside, she spoke, again in an accusing tone.

"Who did you send to get that carving for you?"

He smiled at her, then directed his gaze towards the ceiling; a silent acknowledgement that he had no intention of telling her.

"One of the wolves," she answered her own question, "You know the punishment they will get if your parents trace it to them. You're endangering their lives just so you can endanger your own."

"Don't be overly dramatic, Soothsayer," he said, "you know I am not the fragile flower they think I am. I will be fine."

The Soothsayer did not respond for a long while. Her eyes roamed over the teenaged peacock, the body she'd worked so hard to heal and maintain over the years. He was, easily, the greatest accomplishment of her career as a healer. A tiny, hopeless baby, growing ever closer to adulthood, worries of an early funeral all but gone. Moments of his legs simply giving out from under him, tea cups slipping from wings because he just didn't have the strength to hold them longer, seemed very fresh in her mind and she had to remind herself that they were actually quite old memories.

"You are stronger than they think...but that does not mean you are strong..." she finally responded.

"Do I need to be physically strong to be a master?" he asked, his tone making it very clear it was a rhetorical question, and his glare at her making it clear he didn't want an answer.

The prince pushed himself up from the pillows, his eyes darting to the door to the balcony. More guards were out there, which was a shame. He felt cooped up enough as it was. For lack of any other option, his eyes started scanning the paintings of mountains on the walls.

"I would not need to...wait for such drastic circumstances to force their hand, if they would give me a chance to begin with," he said, not looking at his caretaker. Then, in a voice more sincere, more soft, "I only ask for a chance, Soothsayer."

It hurt her heart a bit.

"Shen...you're not even interested in kung fu," she said, "I've asked if you wanted to watch the masters practice; you told me it'd be boring!"

"Watching the brutes fight _would_ be boring," he snapped, "I'm not interested in them or what they call an art; I'm interested in me."

"Showing mother and father, and maybe a few others, that I'm capable of training," he continued, his eyes narrowed, a little devious smile appearing on his beak, out of her view, "...now that sounds very exciting to me."

The eagerness in his voice was very clear. She knew him enough to know he was not going to let this go; her little boy was as stubborn as could be. Even if she strained her gift and took a feather each day to check that he'd be alright, it wouldn't do any good; Shen would take any warning as a challenge. The only option for her was to stand by ready with every healing implement she had, and hope she did not have to use any of it. 

"Then I guess I can't stop you."

He looked to her, smiling. It was a genuine smile, without any hint of malice or mischief; quite a rarity for the young lord. She felt compelled to smile back.

"You will see, Nana. I can handle it."

His voice was full of confidence, and it seemed, to the Soothsayer, true. If she'd had to bet, she would've said he could do it. The prince was resourceful, smart, quick, and would do anything to change the expectations of his parents and his people.

"I'm sure you will," she admitted. 

At the sound of her encouragement, a touch of smugness ruined his smile.

A new thought occurred to her. One that said that maybe, regardless of whether or not it was technically possible, someone like Shen knowing martial arts was not a good thing.

She guessed, she'd need to hope for the best with that, too. 


End file.
